Dark Was the Night
by The Wheezing Dragon
Summary: Visited by the infamous vampire queen of legend, Elizabeth Bathory defiles a young cleric, turning him into a lustful monster and setting him after his monks. A bit of an origin story behind the characters played by the members of the band Ghost: Papa and the Nameless Ghouls. Warning for blood, non-con, and a bunch of other good stuff.
Even in the rapidly fading sunset and dismal chill of November, the humble, stone walls of the chapel felt more like a home than any cottage that Father Oskar had ever slept in. It was more than his duty - nay, it was his utmost joy to tend to the sanctuary in the hours following the evening mass. As the people of lonely Hungarian villages from miles around flocked back to their homes in the deepening twilight, the youthful, raven-haired cleric spent his nights leafing through ancient tomes, scrawling out the following week's address, and replenishing the armada of candles and lamps that kept every room warm and lit even through the harshest of winters. There was nothing more that the Father loved than to see his church so bright and inviting...

Or so he had thought.

At the touch of a soft, slender hand on his back, Oskar very nearly dropped the remains of a few lumpy, melted candles back onto the altar. He managed to save his mitre from toppling from his head with his free hand, but still spun clumsily about in a whirlwind of black robes to face his visitor.

"Brother Erik?" At first, he regarded the youngest of his monks with wide, bewildered eyes, but his features quickly softened at the sight of him, "You haven't gone home with the others?"

"The monks have not left sanctuary, Papa," the slim whippet of a boy replied, "We... wish to remain here with you. That is, if you will give us your blessing to stay..."

"Is that so?" Father Oskar looked over his fellow inquisitively, and Erik instinctively turned his gaze to the ground in respect.

While the monks were far from indifferent and lazy, they were still young and boisterous boys, no older than nineteen or twenty years, give or take. Though they would stay often enough to tend to the chapel's needs and partake in their Father's goodhearted sermons, it was not like them to make a cloister of the place, and it raised a little warranted concern.

"You've never wanted to spend the night before. Do any of your fellows wish to be snowed in and write my sermons for me?" the elder offered Erik a wry chuckle.

"No, Papa! Er- Father," the monk's interjection only elicited a loud, enthusiastic guffaw from his superior. Only when Father Oskar finally noticed the urgency in the youth's icy, blue eyes did he cease to laugh.

"My apologies, my child. Please, continue."

"Father... There has been talk of a monster who stalks our villages at night. A monster... who gathers up virgins like so many livestock and takes them to the castle in the North, never to be seen again." Erik paused to swallow a dry lump in his throat, and the cleric watched as the sheer panic drained the lad's face of color. "They say... that this monster is a woman of astounding beauty and far more astounding cruelty."

"Who fed you this nonsense?" though Oskar had never been a superstitious man, he could not help but feel a light flutter in his heart at the thought of his monks being so frightened by a simple rumor. They were but puerile servants to the church, but they were far from naive.

"We learned of her through chatter in the assembly just this eve. The villagers call her the Blood Countess... A vampire."

The superior knit his brows in a mixture of disappointment and genuine grief. It certainly was not like his monks to still believe in monsters, but it hurt him nonetheless to see Erik so worried. Besides, it was far too dark now to send anyone home through the snowfall.

"My child," he intoned gently, embracing the youth fully and wrapping him in his over-sized sleeves, "You needn't pay any heed to a little ghost story. Our mighty Father in Heaven sees all, and He would not let any such beast near His loyal servant. You needn't fear this lady of the night, whether she truly exists or not." The father reassuringly ruffled Erik's hair through his hood with one hand, and held him tighter with the other.

"Thank you, Papa," the monk whimpered into his superior's chest, "Thank you."

"You have my blessing. Under one condition."

Erik glanced up at his papal father, fearful, cyan eyes peering out from beneath the shroud of his feathered, blond hair and heavy cassock hood.

"Be sure to include me in your prayers," Oskar dismissed the lad with a soft kiss on his forehead, watching in reverent delight as his face brightened and he practically bounced away to the sanctuary to stay with his fellows.

"I will, Papa! Good night!"

"May our Father bless you with the sweetest of dreams, Brother Erik."

With that, the priest turned, somewhat more gracefully this time around, and finished clearing the altar of incense and wax. It was going to be a long night, and all that snow would not clear until the sun was high in the sky the following day. At least Oskar was assured that he had some company. He smiled at the sound of the monks' collective feet pattering about in the balcony, waited for a break in the shuffling of their robes and scraping of pews across the floor, and blew out the last of the candles.

x

It was hard to say how much time had passed since the church had gone completely dark, but Oskar was certain it had to be several more hours before dawn. At first he wondered how the distinct, sharp tapping at the chapel doors had not woken the monks, but as he groggily rolled from his seat in the study, fumbling for his staff and mitre, he reasoned it was only proper that the superior of the church greet a lonely traveller. Hearing the rapping growing steadily louder and louder, he willed his weary body forward on unsteady legs, brushing jet black waves of hair from his heavy eyelids.

"Whoever it is, fear not!" he called, "We shall never turn away the needy in my sanctuary!"

With what little strength Oskar retained in his sleepy stupor, he pulled a single door wide with a harsh creak, revealing a single, hooded figure amidst the crystalline flurries of snow in the darkness. As the stranger drew a little closer, the priest could faintly see the fine features of a pale, thin-lipped woman in the moonlight. Her eyes remained obscured by the hood of her robe, but Oskar could feel her gaze boring right through him.

"My child... You must be as cold as death..."

"May I take shelter with you tonight, Father?" she asked with a voice like cool velvet.

For a moment, the cleric was taken aback at her directness, but his guard dropped further still as the stranger took another step towards him.

"Come in," he replied, suddenly noting a strange chill, far stronger than any winter wind, invading his heart. He could not explain it, but it felt as though he were willed by some unearthly force to respond to her, not through his own genuine volition. "Please, make yourself comfortable, Miss..."

"You may call me Elizabeth," the woman turned with a smile, and Oskar sucked in a startled gasp at the sight of her teeth.

Just before the cleric was able to catch a better glimpse of her face, the church door presently slammed shut with a bang just behind him. The startled cries of the monks from the balcony above were more than enough to fully wake the priest, but it was the sudden force that dragged him right into the strange woman's arms that made him scream in terror.

Oskar writhed and scrambled to break her grip, only to be violently cast to the cobbled stone floor, the resulting impact sending his mitre, staff, and a small splatter of saliva flying.

"Father Oskar! Stay still!" he heard his monks scrambling to come to his aid...

Telltale cries of fear, followed by thuds against wooden pews and earthen floors told him that they were equally unsuccessful in facing the assailant. He watched in horror as a sobbing, terrified Erik was lifted through the air over the other four weakened, wriggling bodies and his own, being dragged helplessly by this woman's sorcery right into her physical grasp.

"No! Please! Papa, run! Run!"

The agony that petrified the priest's very soul was only magnified by the sight of Erik's beautiful face twisted and soaked in tears... right next to the fanged maw of Elizabeth. Her eyes bored through Father Oskar once again, but this time, he could see that they were red... Ruby red orbs that could blaze through the very essence of sweetness and shake a righteous man to his core with their sheer intensity. More horrifying still were her reptilian pupils: cold, tiny slits that raked over Oskar and his loving monks like daggers of pure darkness.

"Would you rather this little one go first?" The monstrous woman chuckled in a sultry tone as she forced Erik down on his knees before her. "I shall make it quick... After all, little Erik is your favorite, isn't he, Papa?"

Oskar's blood ran cold, his flesh went white as a sheet, and he was almost certain he felt his heart completely stop. Before he could reach for his staff to bat the demon away from his beloved subordinate - however futile the effort might be - he was once again seized by her unseen hand and hurled through the air, this time crashing into the altar and landing before the pulpit with an echoing thud. His vision blurred horribly, and he had to shake his head a couple of times just to make out the desperate calls of his monks. Soon enough, however, they were all sent sailing, one by one, each landing with a more pained scream than the last as they were cast at their papal father's side. Oskar groaned in anguish, weakly rolling over to face Elizabeth with narrowed, chestnut eyes.

"By the power of Almighty God," he hissed through his teeth at her, clasping Erik's trembling hands with one of his own, whilst raising the other in the air, "You shall be cast out, demon!"

Shrugging off her hooded robe, the vampire strode toward him in unabashed confidence, her shimmering, wavy blonde hair flowing behind her curvaceous form in an unearthly wind. She snapped out her right arm in a commanding, beckoning wave, drawing the battered Oskar before her once more.

"God does not dwell here," she stated, her words sinking into the priest's heart like carving knives in a fine slab of meat, "You know that. Why don't we show little Erik what you would like to do to him? Let us show him what deeds you truly think on when you lock yourself in here at night." The countess cackled.

Before he could react, Oskar found himself atop his sweet monk, splayed across the altar like a cheap harlot, screaming and crying for mercy. The other monks gasped, sobbed, and clawed at the stone steps, but were otherwise unable to move, bound in place by that accursed, hellish force.

"Undress him," Elizabeth gripped at the papal father's hips and chest, effectively shredding open his robes with her nails. No, not nails - claws!

"W-what? Begone! Begone with you, witch!" Oskar screamed in vain. "Leave us be or suffer the wrath of our Father in Heav-ack!"

The countess seized him by his raven hair, yanking his already bruised head back until he was sure he would collapse from the pain. "You heard me," she intoned in his ear before giving it a soft lick, making him whimper, "Treat your little Erik the way you truly wish..."

In the same instant her fangs sank through the flesh of his throat, Father Oskar was presently held fast by more than the vampire's claws and teeth. It was as though his body had been lit on fire, every nerve screaming in unadulterated agony... and pleasure. Through what remained of his robes, he felt his manhood rising to attention, brushing roughly against Erik's still clothed pelvis.

Erik. The cleric sobbed in his throat at the sight of his monk crying for help that he knew would not come. But his humanity was being drawn from him by the second, and soon, Oskar found his hands, slowly being drained of color, wandering beneath the folds of the dark cassock that enrobed terrified boy's shuddering form. He felt Elizabeth deepening her bite, felt her savoring him, and he found himself doing the same to the skin beneath his palms. Moaning headily, he began to shamelessly rock his hips in an unmistakable gesture up against Erik, gasping in a mixture of bewilderment and horror at his own perversion as he heard the monk utter up strangled cries of discomfort.

What was he doing? He was no monster! And he would certainly never cave to such a base, cruel pleasure! Never.

But the vampire woman's vile intentions disagreed wholly, and Oskar felt her teeth gnawing at him, demanding more blood... demanding his obedience. As she continued to devour him, the priest became positively overwhelmed with desire. If he could describe his body as ignited before, then he was absolutely ablaze with carnal longing by now. Elizabeth began to tear at his front with her claws, and, in turn, Oskar ripped the cassock over Erik asunder.

Pristine, snow-white skin, shimmered slickly with sweat under the dying preacher's wild eyes. Momentarily, he felt rather transfixed by the sheer spectacle of the youth's bare chest and belly, heaving up and down convulsively as he wept. How he had wished to have the boy to himself all this time in sanctuary! How he had waited! His cock strained painfully through his own ragged clothes, precum oozing freely, slicking the front of his bloodstained robe in a filthy display of lust.

The only thing that impeded his efforts to further strip Erik and ravage him was the fact that he, himself, was still trapped in the unbreakable embrace of Elizabeth. She was playing with him now, making him melt and writhe in her impossibly powerful arms, suckling the ragged, bloody remains of his neck, teasing his already mutilated, searing flesh with her wicked tongue. The countess suddenly jerked Oskar's head back further, now deeply kissing him, plundering her prey's mouth with cruel precision and smearing coppery fluid everywhere. With deft fingers, she rent open the cleric's robes and abruptly shoved him forward so that he lay sprawled atop his most beloved subordinate.

"My, my..." Elizabeth chuckled disdainfully, "Not so sweet and pure, after all, are we, Papa? Why not strip him of his innocence, now?"

"Y-you..." Oskar sputtered, his own blood splattering the altar and the mortified faces of his monks below, "What have you done?" he rasped.

He already knew. He simply did not want to believe it.

"You belong to me now, Papa Emeritus," the countess replied venomously through crimson-stained lips, "You, your little village, your church... and your boys." She eyed the helpless monks hungrily, lazily wiping her mouth with the back of one flawless, pale hand, yet a sudden listlessness and boredom seemed to have crept across her demeanor.

The dying husk of a man hissed in agony through rapidly growing fangs, glaring back at his unwanted mistress through newly mismatched, monochromatic eyes. That was all? The monster had come to torture him and his monks, rob him of his humanity and their dignity just to make a lewd spectacle out of them?

"Still," Elizabeth presently continued, "I must admit that you were far more satisfying than I expected, so I shall leave you be to thoroughly enjoy this little coven... and all that that implies."

With a whisk of her robes, the Blood Countess seemed to evaporate into a twisting, violet and black vapor that melted into the darkness of the very night sky outside. As she vanished - just as suddenly and strangely as she had appeared, no less - the collective, battered clergy were relieved of her invisible bondage... And the newly risen Papa groaned in his throat at the supple, tender meat that lay across and all about his altar.

There was no denying it now. He could not hold back any longer. With a blood-chilling hiss, the monstrous priest leapt atop Erik, eliciting a terrified shriek and sending the others scattering and practically howling what very well would be their final prayers. He completely stripped him now, black and white irises blazing with unholy intent, slobbering from his fanged mouth and all over the innocent lad's bare, perfectly flat midsection. Flinging all inhibitions away, never to obey them again, the tainted papal father hoisted his monk's thighs upward, spreading them wide and ramming his hips against his meager but soft derriere tauntingly.

"Papa Oskar!" Erik screamed desperately, but neither the beauty of his face nor the sweet pleading in his eyes could stay the newborn vampire's hands.

"Don't... call me that, little one..." For a moment, the ice in his own words startled the priest, but he knew it was true. The mortal man that had known nothing but reverence for this church and all who walked its halls was dead, and in his place, a waking nightmare had been summoned.

Papa Emeritus now invaded Erik's mouth with his own, muffling his cries while he freed his dripping cock of his clothes. Holding his base with one hand and restraining the monk with the other, he slid himself inside. He could not help but break his kiss just for a moment, gasping at the tightness and warmth of the boy's narrow passage.

"Heaven, have mercy..." the superior chortled, eagerly burying himself deeper and deeper. With both clawed hands, Emeritus lovingly cupped Erik's face, gently brushing at the tears that flowed down his flushed cheeks. "You're even more beautiful when you cry."

"Father, you're hurting me..." the monk moaned, arching his back and writhing at his master's touch.

It only made Papa cackle in perverse delight. He began to rut wildly on his beloved companion, thrusting and pumping roughly, knowing well he was leaving his insides raw and bloody. The stench of copper and salt, infernal heat, and insatiable compulsion to lay waste to all that was innocent and virtuous simply consumed him now. It was as though he could drown himself in sanguinous flesh and pleasurable company, but it would never be enough.

He had to have all of Erik. He had to.

Seizing the lad by his shoulders, Papa flipped him over and squeezed him flat against his aching, rotting body, making him wriggle and yelp. Once again, he buried his thick, pulsating member in Erik's bottom, and sank his fangs into his shoulder.

The screams that echoed off the walls of the church would ring in his mind forever. But he did not care. Papa ravaged his subordinate, pounding him against the altar, alternately kissing him wetly and feeding on his delectable body. He mercilessly teased his nipples with his claws, raking at his heaving chest with one hand, while exploring his nethers with the other. Soon enough, he was jerking the boy off in his inhuman grip, pushing him further and further, making Erik practically sing into his mouth when he finally came.

Even after Emeritus, himself, was finished with him and let his ragged, moaning form fall gracelessly to the chapel floor, he quickly realized that he was far from satisfied. Still fiercely hungry, and equally fiercely erect, the demonic papal father took to prowling his now defiled church, listening for the frightened whispers and whimpers of the monks with his new, pointed ears.

It was not long before he had found them all. The first, he dragged out from under a pew and pounded him until he was exhausted, gripping ruthlessly at his member the whole while to deny him release. Just when it seemed as though the youth could bear no more, Papa fucked him harder than even before, only releasing his cock when he bit down on his throat to drain him.

Next, he uncovered two of the boys huddling beneath the massive crucifix behind the altar and pulpit. He forced one of them up on the polished, wooden podium and commanded that he lift up his cassock. The other, he ordered to service the elevated one with his mouth. When he hesitated, Papa rent open the back of his robe, shoved his slick, wet cock into him up to the hilt, and forced his face down into to his brother's nethers. He rocked into him, consequently giving the roughest of blowjobs to the monk on the podium, eliciting muffled groans and feral howls. When Papa could smell that the two were near release, he abruptly pulled out, grabbed them by their hair through their hoods, and cast them to the floor to feed on their sweaty necks.

The last monk he found lay shivering in the snow just beyond the chapel doors. Before his blood became any further chilled and thickened, the demon priest snatched him up and dragged him away to his study like a wolf carrying off a freshly slain lamb. He threw his crying prey over his desk, scattering documents and parchment helter-skelter, looking him over in a frenzied delight.

Before he could slash away at his robes with his claws, Papa could sense something gathering behind him. The familiar pitter-patter of his subordinates' feet suddenly sounded at his study doors, but what greeted him as he turned were not what he had expected at all. It was a surprise enough that they had not simply remained lifeless on the floor, but Emeritus could hardly contain his excitement at the sight of what they had become.

Their mouths, once sweet and pink like pairs of petals, had grown into wide, twisted smiles that sported long, dagger-like fangs. Their peachy-white flesh had degraded into a mottled grey, while the scars and bite wounds he had inflicted on them had turned nearly black, coagulated, jagged, and ugly. From out their foreheads protruded pairs of short, pointed horns that curled backwards over the hems of their hoods, giving them a truly impish appearance. Most remarkable of all, however, were the spaded tails that trailed behind them, alternately flicking playfully and curling suggestively as they approached him.

"Papa," they moaned to him, their voices like honey and butter, dripping and oozing out of their mouths, calling the papal father's attention away from the poor monk on the desk.

"Papa... You were so rough..." Erik crooned up to him with eyes as pale and bright as a winter morning sky, "I loved it."

The ghouls drew closer to their master, positively drooling as they crawled up over the plush armchair, scattered tomes, and the desk, whilst the new Erik lovingly buried his face in Papa's reeking, bloody robes. Without a second thought, the monstrous cleric wrapped him in his sleeves once more. While the demon within him could not admit that he had hurt him, his basest of needs and his libido did not disagree with the thought of having immortal servants to keep him company. For a moment, he was calm, breathing in the smell of copper, dying flesh, acrid sweat, and hot semen... a most rapturous aftermath of a most delightful romp in sin.

Then again, there was always more to be had. Both Papa and his beloved ghoul presently both acknowledged the sounds of the others disrobing the last human in the building.

Peering back at him with lustful, greedy eyes, they awaited his permission.

"If you wish to take him, Father, do we at least get a turn after?" one asked pleadingly.

"A turn? What nonsense," Papa Emeritus raised an eyebrow at his vile servants, smirking. "Who said you had to take turns?"

It would be still a few hours longer before the sun rose, but they would all spend it cavorting wildly, screaming, laughing, and sighing. The ghouls would service their father, and one another until the break of dawn, when they would retreat deep into the sanctuary to lie with him among their destroyed, slicked robes in complete darkness.

What the Blood Countess had hoped to achieve, she had only done in part, and she had toppled a coventry into chaos... a chaos that they would unleash in unchained lechery, night after night, again and again. Papa smiled to himself, cradling two of his servants to his chest in the blackness of the sleeping quarters, and closed his eyes.


End file.
